


prayers answered

by Star_on_a_Staff



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ashe ubert - Freeform, Confessions, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Healing, Hilda Valentine Goneril - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, PWP, Play that one Hozier song, Post-Time Skip, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Smut, Table Sex, The Following Characters Spoke a Grand Total of Two Phrases, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wounds, linhardt von hevring - Freeform, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_on_a_Staff/pseuds/Star_on_a_Staff
Summary: Faith magic has always been...unpredictable. Reason, on the other hand, is contained, determinable. There is a set of canons that dictates the order of it all, cause and effect and all that rhetorical nonsense. It’s a science. Faith, on the other hand, is naught but prayers answered.Marianne learns this slowly, and then all at once.Or; Dimitri/Marianne smut with some added nonsense. Post-timeskip so everyone's legal okay. Porn with a microscopic teaspoon of plot.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund
Comments: 6
Kudos: 94





	prayers answered

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is basically that Hozier song lyric for lyric and I apologize. 
> 
> I DON'T apologize for the smut, because my friend Sarah deserves all the sweet wet DimiMari loving she can get. I DO apologize for taking too much time on it though. I was too shy and afraid and have only just now cast off all inhibitions. 
> 
> Now get to porning you lovelies.

Faith magic has always been...unpredictable. 

Reason, on the other hand, is contained, determinable. There is a set of canons that dictates the order of it all, cause and effect and all that rhetorical nonsense. It’s a science. 

Faith, on the other hand, is naught but prayers answered. 

Marianne learns this slowly, and then all at once. 

O.O

Every patient healed through Faith magic fumbles to explain the experience. 

“It’s tingly.” Hilda strains her neck to try to peer at her newly healed shoulder blade, the scar pinkening under Marianne’s hand until it fades away. “I feel like I’ve been in the sun for too long.”

“It’s beautiful.” Ashe says reverently as Marianne carefully heals his forehead. He might be a little woozy, because he’s wearing a dreamy, unrestrained smile like a child. “It feels like what spring vegetables taste like.”

“Makes me sleepy.” Linhardt yawns, looking bored out of his mind even as Marianne tries to heal the slash on his hip without bursting into flames. “But especially so.”

“Like the smile of a friend.” Dimitri says softly as Marianne reaches up to heal a nick on his neck, her other hand bracing herself on the broadness of his chest. The unexpected depth in his face startles her, and when she realizes that she’s hovering just a breath away from his mouth, she scurries backwards and bows until the flame of her cheeks has quieted to a dull roar. 

But even as she kneels at the foot of the ruined Goddess’ altar later that night, Marianne finds herself unable to forget the exquisite cut of his mouth and the dark churning deepness of his one eye. 

“I don’t understand.” She murmurs helplessly, gazing up at the visage of the serene Goddess as something dark and new unfurls in her stomach. “Help me understand.”

O.O

On particularly sleepless nights, she does offer up breathless prayers of an entirely different sort with a quiet hand slipping up her thighs and the timbre of a soft voice in her mind. 

O.O

After Rodrigue’s death, Dimitri has calmed significantly, but his attacks have not grown any less reckless. 

“You must be careful, Dimitri!” Marianne clutches at his skin as blood spills over her hands, pressed tightly to the open gash in his chest. “Please, don’t charge too far ahead of our front lines so recklessly in the future!”

“Forgive me, Marianne.” Dimitri coughs, and her chest constricts with his as he brings up a hand to cover his mouth. “But I can’t promise that this will be the last time that I find myself seeking your help.”

Her fingers tremble, but under their steady glow his wound shrinks, puckers, and then vanishes completely. Her hands remain on his damp skin as she raises her eyes to his. He meets her gaze, but she can feel the steady, almost frantic drumming of his heart battering against his ribcage. 

“Please, Dimitri.” Her voice comes out stronger, steadier against the flutter of his heartbeat. “At least for me.”

His gaze holds hers in its iron steady grip, shiny and stern and softer than the expanse of his scar-roughened skin beneath her hands. 

“Alright, Marianne.” There it is again, that dark quality to his voice that has kept her awake many a sleepless night. It sends shivers through her spine, and if Dimitri notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

But his hand, which has settled on her own either to soothe or to warn, tightens infinitesimally, and Marianne suddenly wonders what those fingers would feel like playing along the heated silk of her thighs, or curling around the ridges of her hips, or the peaks of her breasts, or even inside— 

This time, Dimitri definitely notices her sudden intake of breath. “Marianne? Are you feeling alright?” His hand slips off of hers to help himself sit up straighter, and it’s the absence of his heat and calluses that has her bolting backwards and stammering. 

“I’m just—oh, forgive me—let me, um, I have to go—”

“Of course.” Dimitri casts her another look, warm and concerned, and the evening sun is casting his entire body in an amber glow and it makes Marianne realize with a shock of guilt-laden desire that she wants to kiss him, kiss the concern off of his mouth until he’s writhing under her touch and arching into her and gasping out nothing but her name in a fit of ecstasy. 

Marianne flees the infirmary before the scathing heat in her cheeks and insides threaten to overtake her and she does something foolish like actually kissing the King of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus senseless. 

O.O

When it finally, finally, happens, it's the dead of night. 

She stumbles blearily into the darkened dining hall in the dead of night and runs straight into a stiffly-muscled back. Marianne scrambles for an apology and a light, but the moment her hands light up, her mouth goes dry at the sight of Dimitri bent over himself trying to sew up his own thigh.

He nearly falls off the table when her sharp gasp echoes through the empty dining hall, and his shaggy golden head whips up to stare guiltily up at her. 

Marianne has seen Dimitri at his worst and at his best. She’s seen him calf-deep in grime and filth, his bare eye blazing with hatred as he tore the limbs of Imperial soldiers apart. She’s seen him atop the stone balcony of the palace in Faerghus, a gentler sort of rain on his cheeks as he held out his trembling arm to the cheering people of the Kingdom. 

She’s never seen him like this, draped under a huge cloak in an open nightshirt and loose-fitting pants that have been loosely untied to reveal a deep, pulsing wound lancing up and around his thigh, his blonde hair pulled up into a clumsy knot that reveals the knotted cream of his neck, his shoulders, his collarbone. 

Here, Marianne is not looking at the King of Faerghus, but just Dimitri, a man who bleeds red blood like every other person. And right now he’s looking at her with a mingled embarrassment and fondness in his eye that it’s making her melt.

“My apologies. I might’ve strained myself too far and got myself into this mess.” Dimitri voice is drawn out and scratchy, like he’s been audibly hissing through the pain, and the heady daze in Marianne’s head is quickly washed over by concern at the ugly sight of the wound on his leg. 

“Dimitri…” The concern seeps through into her soft admonishment, and Dimitri’s reassuring smile pinches a little at the corners with undisguisable pain. “I’m sorry for not bringing this up with you earlier.”

Marianne bites her lip, and edges closer to Dimitri. His breath catches when she perches on the table next to him, but she focuses ( _ by the Goddess, how she has to focus)  _ on taking him by the wrist to lift his hand away from the wound. 

Her heart rises to her throat at the sight of the injury. It’s a nasty gash about the length of one’s forearm. A bladed weapon has scraped along the inside of his leg, drawing up from the back of the knee to wrap around the meat of his upper leg and thigh. It’s not oozing blood at the moment, but the skin is red and inflamed, most likely infected. 

“Dimitri, why didn’t you come to me?” Marianne whispers. White light is already pouring from her hands, and Dimitri actually tips his head back and  _ groans _ in sated relief. Something dark inside her purrs at the way his groan scrapes and curls from his throat.

“I didn’t want to trouble you—” Dimitri grits his teeth as Marianne’s hands curl deeper into his flesh. Her palms press flat against his thigh. Faith magic flares like a sunburst beneath her fingers and shoots through his muscles as the wound rapidly shrinks and shrinks until it’s but a pink line curling around his leg, like a signature written in scars. 

Marianne gasps as she pulls back, and nearly tips off the table in exhaustion if it weren’t for Dimitri’s arm hurriedly shooting around her waist and drawing her close to his chest. “Marianne?”

“You are the king now, Dimitri.” Her voice is coming out blurred, the toll of magical strain evident in her loose limbed body. It feels a little like being drunk, this careless exhaustion, and so that must be the reason why Marianne, emboldened, takes her hand and touches his cheek like how she would cup a baby bird in her palm. 

“Next time, come to me, alright?” She breathes, and his eye widens at the warmth in her voice. “I cannot bear to see you hurt.”

“I will.” Dimitri replies without hesitation, and his arms tighten around her. “I swear it.” 

Later, Marianne would swear that it was the strain of taxing magic that drove her to do what she did next. Later, she would bury her head in her hands and moan over her lack of control, for her lack of propriety. Later, she would swear she would never do it again. 

But here in the now, Marianne simply reaches up and kisses Dimitri full on the mouth, her hand curling around the sharp line of his jaw.

She expects some sort of pushback. At best, some sort of frozen, open-eyed gaping. At worst, a “how dare you”. 

She doesn’t expect how eagerly his lips part underneath hers, how his arms instantly twine around her waist and at the small of her back. His large hands curl around her waist and Marianne feels all her surprise leave her mouth in a breathy whimper. 

Against her lips, she can feel Dimitri mumbling something, and she pulls away hesitantly. When she speaks, she’s surprised at how low it comes out. “Is this--am I--”

“Goddess,  _ yes _ .” Dimitri’s voice comes out hoarse and ragged, and just the harsh quality of it has Marianne’s eyes widening in pure hunger. “Yes, Marianne.”

His mouth descends on hers again, and this time Marianne goes pliant in his grasp. Her hands grasp the thin material of his rumpled shirt, and when his hands snake into the depths of her unbound hair, she moans so throatily it shakes her entire frame. 

“Do—” Dimitri pulls away, gasping. His face, his handsome face, is flushed a beautiful scarlet, and his breath is leaving him in open-mouthed pants. “Do that again.”

Marianne feels hot enough to burst into flames, but his single flagrant spark of a burning eye has set the tinder of her mind alight. 

“I—I can’t if you’re just looking at me.” She whispers shakily. 

Dimitri’s eye goes into shadow, and his hands, broad and rough and gentle, spread across the small of her back. “As you wish, love.”

The endearment sings in her blood, and Marianne revels in the golden sensation as Dimitri puts his mouth on her neck. Her head falls back again as he sucks on the arch of her chin, on her fluttering pulse. He uses teeth only after a particularly loud whine escapes from her clenched teeth, his hum of delight coursing through her entire body like a jolt of lightning. 

When he finally bites down on her shoulder, Marianne’s mouth falls open and her hips buck on their own accord. They push insistently against the cradle of Dimtiri’s hips, and this time he breaks away from her damp skin to groan in a way that feels downright filthy. 

“Wait—wait—” He’s fumbling over his words, and his hands are cupping her face as he breathes heavy to the side. Dimitri looks wrecked, and they’ve barely begun. 

“What is it?” Her voice comes out strangled, and he tilts his head to glance at her, almost shyly. The fringe of his hair hangs over his eye which gleams a piercing and longing blue in the darkness of the dining hall, and Marianne feels  _ ravenous _ . 

“I just—I just wanted to make sure that this—” His breath comes out in a sigh when her head falls to rest against his chest, her hands against the breadth of his chest, “—that this—this is alright.”

“I—” Marianne bites her lip as she thinks, and the shadowy, heated part of her is very happy at how Dimitri follows the motion like a man in a trance. 

“Well—” She tries again, her hands gripping the sheer fabric of his shirt. “To be perfectly honest, I’ve been dreaming of this moment for years.”

Relief sweeps over Dimitri’s face, leaving it open and vulnerable and joyous, and it’s like the sun coming out after a dark winter. His hands grasp her face with such care, such gentleness. “Really? Truly?”

Marianne nods, bashful but eager, and her hands come up to tangle with his own. His fingers tighten on hers, and she gets a half-second of warning before his mouth descends on hers again, hot, hungry and damp.

Her lips part in both surprise and a moan, and he takes the opportunity to plunder every inch of her mouth, running his tongue over her own and her teeth as his arms pull her impossibly closer. Her fingers scrabble for purchase on his chest, and there’s a moment of breathless ecstasy where her hips buck unconsciously into his. 

Groaning with approval, Dimitri pulls her further into him, his touch fierce but not ungentle, and Marianne moans unabashedly as he slides one of his hands down to palm her backside, and this time she’s not afraid to reach up and bite his shoulder. Emboldened by the sudden burst of sound that spills from his lips, she laves at the bitten mark with her tongue, tasting the indentations that her teeth have left in him as Dimitri tosses his head back and  _ moans _ . 

She peers up at him through her lashes. It’s a demure act from a demure woman, but Dimitri looks back down and all he sees is the dark churning depths of dark eyes that have their pupils blown open with heat, longing, and all consuming eagerness. 

“Dimitri…” Her whisper is sweet, gravely, and it’s enough to send him over the edge. 

Dimitri scoops her up in his arms with a single motion, causing Marianne to squeal in mingled surprise and delight as he pushes her onto one of the dining room tables. Her hair fans out on the dark woodwork, blue and vibrant, as he kneels in front of her with the reverence of a newly-made worshiper. 

“Forgive me,” he gasps as he struggles to unlace her gown with trembling fingers, “you deserve more than this.”

“No.” Marianne arches her back as his long, thick fingers push away the layers of fabric to find her heated flesh, already wet and waiting for him, “I want you, I want this, I want--AH--”

His fingers spread her wide, and her scream rings in the rafters of the dining hall like the bells toll in the chapel. This is a perverse sort of worship, a beautiful kind of worship, the kind that Dimitri is inflicting on her sex with absolute feverish care. His tongue probes at her folds like she’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, and Marianne’s cries are surely becoming more obscene with every stammered shriek of Dimitri’s name—

His hands clasp the curve of her spread thighs and Dimitri raises his face to hers, his eye burning as he sucks on her clit with the adamant fierceness of the intent. He’s curious, he’s being cautious, but Marianne’s fingers tangle in his hair and her growl echoes in the hall like a war summons, “Slower. Please.”

Dimitri raises one burning blue eye, and there’s a submissive fire in it that has her trembling all over again. He pulls away briefly, his mouth damp with her juices, and smiles with teeth. “Of course.”

When he puts his mouth to her again, this time his tongue is slower but more deliberate, as if he’s searching for something very specific in every crest and fall of her voice. Her fingers tighten in his hair as he hitches a pale, stockinged leg over his shoulder to mouth at her deeper, and if her cries rang before, now her wails are soaring like the birds she so loves. 

When Marianne comes, it’s like the snapping of a rope. Her fingers clench on his hair and her toes curl on his back, but every spasm and shudder that racks through her is mirrored in Dimitri’s body as he groans into her, every rumble sending delicious shocks of after waves into her as Marianne falls back onto the table, panting and suddenly very much aware of how scratchy her throat has become. 

Dimitri emerges from between her legs, his face flushed and damp with her slick, but his smile is so fond and gentle as he reaches out and strokes her face. “You look so stunning.”

Marianne blushes, but with more pleasure than self-consciousness this time, and she reaches out and cups his jaw. “Come here, please.”

When she kisses him again, she can taste herself on his lips, and it’s thrilling to lick into his mouth and marvel at the heady sweetness of herself that he so thoroughly enjoyed. Marianne pulls him over her, and this time when his hips push into hers, she grinds back with clear-headed intent. 

The kiss is cut off by Dimitri’s bitten back groan. He pulls away, his face scarlet and his mouth half parted as he heaves for breath. He is a sight, his tunic falling open and his bare chest shiny with sweat, and Marianne feels a second wave of heat rush through her like a bolt of lightning. 

Marianne pulls at his shoulders, an unspoken question, and Dimitri rolls underneath her willingly. He watches her with heated awe as Marianne carefully straddles him, her hair tumbling down past her pale shoulders as she carefully plants her hands on his chest, thrusting against him with curious purpose. Her aim strikes true as she grinds down against his stiff erection, and they both moan at the sudden friction that sends twin jolts of pleasure through their cores. 

Marianne reaches down to fumble with the laces of his trousers, and Dimitri scrambles to help her as their fingers shake in mirrored eagerness. After an eternity of fumbling, of embarrassed and delighted laughter, his erection spring free, flushed and think and dripping with precome.

“We’ll go slowly.” Marianne says through gasps. Her hips are already moving on their accord, moving in smooth, sleek thrusts that have Dimitri writhing underneath her as his hands clutch at the pale curves of her waist. 

“Whatever you like, whatever you want—” Dimitri gasps as Marianne drags her dampness over the tip of his cock. “Ahh—do that again—”

His voice breaks off into a full on moan that ripples through his body as Marianne sinks onto him with excruciating slowness. Her whimper dissolved into a soft little “O” through parted, kiss-bitten lips as her damp lips envelope his engorged cock fully, and there’s a breathless moment where Marianne is trembling above Dimitri and he’s trembling beneath her, both of them terrified to move and to break this tenuous moment.

He’s big, big enough to stretch her and make her feel full to bursting, and so Marianne takes in a couple deep breaths before she begins to move. Slow, stuttering thrusts with none of the earlier fluidity, and so Dimitri matches her thrust for thrust, starting gentle to acquaint her with his length. When her movements grow more confident, more sure, he reciprocates with equal fervor, moving deeper and faster so that the tip of his cock drags against her walls in such a delicious way. 

Marianne’s pace falters with every new spot that he’s finding, and she wobbles, unable to sit upright. “Dimitri, I—”

“O-Of course.” Dimitri breathes out sharply, and he carefully rolls her over so that she’s again splayed out beneath him. But oh, he’s so gentle, he’s so careful, as he thrusts into her again, listening for that hitch in her voice and how every cry is beginning to soar like when he was ravishing her with his mouth, and this time his groans are matching hers in in volume and exuberance as he pounds into her with renewed vigor, clutching at the table by her head. 

Marianne clutches at his shoulders and her nails break into his skin as one particularly forceful thrust hits something within her that causes her to throw her head back and scream, and Dimitri’s thrusts stutter and slow, his hands clenching into fists as he trembles with restraint. 

“Kiss me,” her whisper is barely audible above the slick sounds of their bodies joining, and Dimitri scrambles to fulfill her request, worshiping her mouth as for the second time that night Marianne comes with Dimitri’s name spilling from her lips. 

Shaking from aftershocks but lucid enough, she reaches up blindly to grasp at his chest, and she tweaks his right nipple with two of her slim, pale fingers. 

Dimitri’s enthusiastic thrust is cut off by a violent, full-body shudder, and pulls out to spill over her stomach, her name falling brokenly from his lips as ropes of seed splatter across her belly. His hands clench at her face as he kisses her with the last of his strength, his muscles shaking and strung out as his fingers slip against her skin. 

Marianne works her fingers through the messy tangle of his hair, murmuring nonsense as Dimitri slowly comes back to himself, and when he looks back at her she’s floored at how wrecked he looks--flushed face, swollen lips, and a single blue eye that looks at her so adoringly. 

“You’re so pretty.” Marianne says softly, passing a single hand along the swoop of his cheek and jaw, and she notices how he flushes with the praise. Definitely something to consider for the future.

“Not nearly as much as yourself.” Dimitri takes his discarded cloak and quickly swipes his seed off of her, and Marianne wants to kiss him all over again. 

He casts the cloak aside and gathers her into his arms again. She doesn’t ever want to leave his embrace; it’s warm and safe here, nestled against the shifting muscles beneath his skin and feeling his hands smooth her hair straight. 

“I love you. You did know that, right Marianne?” Dimitri says against the silk of her hair. 

“I do now.” Marianne hides her face in his shoulder, hiding a blush and a smile too bright to bear. “I love you too Dimitri. So unutterably much.”

Her nose brushes against something wet and red, and Marianne pulls back with a sudden gasp. “Dimitri! You’re bleeding!”

“Hm?” Dimitri cranes his head unsuccessfully to look. “I didn’t notice.”

It’s just three ragged lines of red, and Marianne realizes with a burst of guilt that it must’ve been from her nails earlier. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be.” Dimitri laughs a bit, pressing his lips to her cheek again. “If anything, I rather enjoyed it.”

“Oh…” Marianne blushes again, but this time she doesn’t bother to hide it or the smile as she reaches out to let Faith magic flicker out from her fingers again, slipping like a ribbon of white light to caress and close the wounds like a final, unspoken kiss. 

Faith, after all, is naught but prayers answered. 

.

.

.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Gochisosama BITCHES
> 
> (quarantine has ruined my vocabulary, I'm so sorry for calling you bitches, that was very rude of me) 
> 
> But I stand by what I said
> 
> Thank you for reading! I love you Sarah <3


End file.
